


Let you love me

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: A little story about love, As you wish....., Confused Robin, Confused Strike, Cormoran is pining, F/M, I love writing drunk Strike, Love Letters, Miserable Robin, Miserable Strike, More than a little nod to The Princess Bride, Robin is pining, Strike in a relationship, alcohol loosens tongues, happy ending!, hidden and unseen gifts, the danger of setting ultimatums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: So the idea for this came out of imagining Strike messing up a perfectly nice relationship by mentioning Robin at an inopportune moment......and my intention was for short.....like, 2 chapter short.....but obviously this is me.....so it's blossomed to 5 chapters and taken a little turn that I wasn't intending!But hey! I like the symmetry to it.I LOVE The Princess Bride, and just fancied adding it into this one....so I have shamelessly stolen and tweaked, a classic line at the end of the story as you will see if you stick with it to Chapter 5!
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 51
Kudos: 59





	1. Miserable Robin

Robin had found herself what she thought to be a relatively secluded and hidden away spot in the large communal garden space where the barbeque and party was taking place.  
She had hitched her legs up into the bench and had her arms wrapped around them, chin resting on her knees.  
Despite all her best efforts her eyes were drawn to him.

Maybe it was the little light blazing at his lips; acting as a beacon wherever he was…..or maybe it was just because he was all she had thought about since returning from her Christmas holidays in Masham.  
Sadly her return and decision to tell him her true feelings had coincided with Strike meeting and starting to date Tessa.  
Hence why now, seven months later, she was hiding away and trying to wait out an appropriately polite amount of time before she could legitimately leave a party which had been organised by Tessa, and which she, Nick, Ilsa, Wardle and his wife April and Vanessa Ekwenesi were all attending.

She’d spent the past half a year celibate and throwing herself into work as a way of distracting herself from the feelings she had allowed to build about her work colleague, and which she had needed to quash instantly upon being faced with a chipper and cheerful Cormoran as he kissed Tessa goodbye on the small landing of their offices on returning to work on the 6th January.

The image of his pink tongue sliding between her lips was engrained on her mind; as was the throaty growl he had emitted as her hand had cupped his right buttock above his moleskin trousers.

He’d tried to keep this development to his personal life out of the office, but she’d overheard quite a few conversations; heard his deep chuckle become seductively low and sensual as he’d talked with her when he thought Robin was busy; and she’d grown used to wafts of Tessa’s perfume invading her nostrils when Strike had run his hand through his hair, or removed his coat.  
She’d tried to hide everything with bravado and forced herself to concentrate on work, but in her lonely evenings, spent in her tiny studio flat, she’d cried many, many tears.

He’d given her a warm and welcoming hug when she’d arrived earlier that evening, along with Nick and Ilsa; and Tessa had thanked her with a genuine smile for the bottles of wine she had brought.  
She’d chatted, been sociable and sipped her way through one of the bottles of wine, and having walked in, unseen, on Strike and Tessa engaged in a deep, passion filled kiss outside the bathroom, she’d grabbed a bowl of crisps and skulked out into the garden to find a place to hide in, allowing herself the indulgence of crying for precisely 6 minutes only before pulling herself together.

Ilsa had noticed Robin’s behaviour over the past few months, but her friend seemed happier this evening; at least she was in attendance – Robin had ceased being part of their Friday night curry sessions around about February time, and shortly after that Tessa had become a regular attendee instead.

“Anyone seen Robin?” Ilsa asked the as she exited the kitchen carrying 2 glasses of white wine.

There was a general consensus that nobody had seen her for a while, but her coat was still hung up, so she hadn’t already left.  
Voicing her intention to check the garden Ilsa grabbed one of the small hanging candle lanterns from a string above their heads and started making her way around the fairly well maintained rectangular communal square.   
She passed a few couples in various states of disarray and momentarily wondered if Robin had copped off and was going to be discovered in a similar state, but as she rounded the furthest end of the space she spotted the unmistakable amber-gold hair of her friend.

Ilsa paused and observed for a few moments. Robin was sniffing; wiping the cuff of the sweater she was wearing over the top of her shortie jumpsuit across her face and mumbling something which Ilsa couldn’t quite make out.

“Hey!” Ilsa announced, not wishing to sneak up on Robin.

Robin had clearly been crying, but she settled her face into a weak smile and scooted along the bench to allow Ilsa to sit beside her.

“You OK? Thought you might need another of these?” she held out one of the wine glasses and clinked hers softly to it as they both drank.  
“Great party,” she continued, “Corm looks really happy…..is that his jumper you’re wearing?”

Robin stroked her fingers across the marled, grey wool and twisted her mouth into a tight lipped sneer.

“Tessa brought it for me when she noticed I was cold….” Her voice trailed off, not wanting to add that it had been the gift she had bought for him for his last birthday….a gift which he’d said was perfect when he’d found out she’d sourced it from a local hand knitting group in Cornwall.  
And yet it was the ‘leave it at your girlfriend’s house’ jumper…..she knew herself that you only left stuff if your weren’t bothered about not getting it back in a rough or hasty break up!

“I like Tessa….she’s good for Corm; really supportive and independent….and non-clingy….I reckon that’s why it’s lasted this long….that and the fact that she’s a professional pastry chef…I mean talk about a perfect match for Corm…”

Robin’s slightly sharp voice interrupted Ilsa’s flow.   
“Can we just not talk about Cormoran…..please,” and she gulped down a significant quantity of the wine in her glass before tweaking her lips and briefly meeting Ilsa’s eyes.

Ilsa immediately twigged – clarity on several changes in Robin’s lifestyle, work ethic, behaviour, even her hairstyle and make up choices clicked into place.

“Oh my God…..you like Corm don’t you? Oh fucking hell Robin…..why the hell didn’t you say something?” Ilsa asked, twisting Robin around to face her on the bench, seeing the sad little shrug of her shoulders and wanting to engulf her in a hug, but knowing that Robin didn’t need that right now.

“He’s happy……it’s fine,” she said softly.

“But Robin……when? I mean how long have you felt like this?”

“Since Christmas….I was going to say something but he met Tessa…..and….well.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Ilsa sipped her wine, her eyes quickly noting the subtle expression changes to Robin’s face.

“I’ll work,” she stated, wiping any sign of emotion from her face.

Ilsa knitted her brow, “Robin? That can’t be everything…..work isn’t enough in life!”

“Yes it is…... It has to be,” and with that Robin stood up and started making her way back to the house. “I’m gonna get off, I’ve made an appearance and stayed long enough to not be rude.”

Ilsa didn’t bother arguing but allowed Robin to go back into the house as she lingered near the glowing warmth of the fire pit where Nick was in deep conversation with one of Tessa’s neighbours about inner London parking permits.  
Strike was just making his way down the stairs which led up to Tessa’s first floor flat in the large, Victorian building.   
The owners of the ground floor, Meera and Kyril, had opened up their flat for use in the party, as had several others in the row, and there was a highly communal feel to the whole thing.   
Robin felt a further blow in her guts….this felt settled….shit…..what if this was it for Cormoran?

Robin didn’t notice him initially as she wrestled the grey, marl sweater over her head, trying desperately not to inhale the engrained aroma of Strike.

“Hey! Ilsa was looking for you,” he stated with a relaxed smile, “Isn’t that mine?” he asked as he cast the sweater aside and rummaged to free her jacket from the tangle of sleeves, hoods and hanging loops on the stand.

“Yeah, Tessa gave it to me….I was getting cold earlier, but I’m getting off. I’m tailing Carter tomorrow.”

Strike had noticed that she had stopped giving clients nicknames since the start of the year….he missed it actually; their office chats had always seemed more fun when they concocted them…..and it was something just between the pair of them; a little joke that only they were in on.

“I bet that can wait until Monday,” he added, trying to meet her eyes and realising that she seemed to be purposefully avoiding his.

“Well, it can’t, so….I’ll see you Monday,” and she passed the sweater back to him as she turned and left.


	2. Confused Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran's point of view mainly.....and we discover that it was him who made a move.....but believes Robin to have shunned his advances.

Strike watched his work partner leave with slight disappointment.

Things hadn’t been the same since Christmas and he now bitterly regretted the letter he’d enclosed with the gift he’d slipped inside the zip up compartment on her small, wheeled suitcase before she left for Masham and Christmas with her family.

After her divorce, and their growing professional relationship, he’d started to notice more and more that he loved her as part of his life.   
He had initially had boundaries in place to prevent him falling; he’d kept work and personal separate.   
But the lines between them had become increasingly blurred.   
Evenings at the Tottenham were more frequent; shared take aways an almost nightly occurrence in the office before she made her way home.   
She’d given him a key to her flat; in case of emergencies; and he’d asked her to accompany him to an appointment on his leg when he’d needed assistance.

And then, one night, in mid December; he couldn’t shake it from his head, even now; they’d ended up sharing a meal, a proper one in a decent chain restaurant, and her knee had rubbed against his thigh under the table, and she’d done that flip thing with her hair, and the festive lights has sparkled in her eyes and he’d realised that he was completely and utterly in love with her.

So that evening he’d written her a love letter.   
He’d explained his feelings, laid everything out in the most poetic and heartfelt language he could muster and stated that if he’d badly judged it all she just needed to say nothing about it and he’d understand.   
But, if she felt the same way as him to ring him, or message him…he’d be waiting.

When no call or message came on Christmas Day he was disappointed, but still hopeful. However by New year’s eve all foolish hope in his heart had gone…clearly he’d misjudged things.

So he’d gone out, intending to drink enough to get suitably pissed to forget and he’d met Tessa….she was lovely, and lonely, and really great in every possible way……and most of the time he was with her he could put images and thoughts of Robin from his mind.

And since Robin had returned to work in the new year things had returned to normal….sort of.   
He’d obviously spent a lot less time with Robin….because he’d spent time with Tessa…..but Robin was working ridiculously hard, and the business was absolutely thriving despite the odd day when he’d had a lie in, or even on a couple of occasions taken a day off to do something with Tessa.

And nothing had been spoken of his letter.

He was happy that she’d come tonight; she’d had other things planned when Tessa had suggested she join them on a few previous occasions.   
They’d barely spoken really.   
The conversation in the hallway just now had been their longest interaction of the evening, and yet now she was gone.

He’d watched her a lot during the evening.   
The lighting out in the garden was flattering and made her pale skin and beautiful hair glow, although he noticed that her eyes lacked their usual sparkle….in fact they’d lacked it for a while he considered.   
Maybe she was working too hard…he’d make sure to tell her to take some time off….infact maybe he’d close down the place for a week and force her to take a break…..Tessa was eager for them to have a holiday.

He realised he was stroking the sweater Robin had passed to him.   
He’d misplaced it months earlier and had been really annoyed having loved the trouble Robin had gone to in order to get it for him.  
He dimly realised that the garment was still warm, and when he raised it to place it across the bannister rail he realised it smelled of Robin’s light, floral scent.  
He made a slight groan as he inhaled the familiar aroma.

Shit!   
He’d assumed he’d got her out of his system….clearly not!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously he's got it all wrong!  
> It is a tangled, muddled up web.......


	3. Confused Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin makes a fairly crucial discovery in her suitcase when trying to find a replacement for a computer cable.

She made her way to the tube and realised she was hungry. There was a good Chinese takeaway on the way from the tube to her flat so she placed her order online so that she could collect it as she passed.  
Robin’s mood was low.   
She’d known that the party would be difficult; she could just about make it through working alongside him, even hearing the odd half of a conversation between him and Tessa was just about bearable….but seeing relaxed, happy, ‘at home’ Cormoran was too much.   
It made her think about all the amazing times they’d had together before Christmas.

She’d convinced herself that he didn’t see her in that way.   
He was professional around her; kind and warm, but no different to how he was around Ilsa…but then there’d been a shared meal, and it had been lovely, and his eyes had been sparkling and fixed on her all evening, and at the end of the night he’d rubbed his thumb across the tip of her pink nose and it had felt like a jolt of electricity running right through her.  
Things in the office had been slightly different for a week or so, and then she’d gone off to Masham for the holidays.

She’d thought it was odd that he hadn’t passed her a gift….she hadn’t expected a card; he didn’t do cards, but usually he gave her a gift….usually badly wrapped, but something he knew she’d enjoy.   
Some of the things he’d given her had cost a fortune (she’d found out that a pair of earrings he’d given her for her Birthday had cost about £300) but other things had cost almost nothing – the fact that he’d framed a used table napkin that they’d jointly scribbled a doodle on whilst surveilling a mark had both touched and amused her.

But she hadn’t mentioned anything further about the missing gift, and she’d lied to her mum when she asked, saying he’d got her a scarf which she’d left in London.

She exited the tube station and walked the short distance into the spicy familiarity of the take away. Her order was ready and handed over as she paid with a tap of her card.  
She popped into the small ‘everything’ shop further along the row and picked up a further bottle of white wine, a large bag of Kettle Chips and a bar of Galaxy before making her way home.

She tossed her keys into the bowl on the table and regarded the Gales’ jar beside it.  
“Honey…I’m home!” she said outloud, but huffed further at the knowledge that the jar of honey had been presented by Strike when she moved in, purely so that she could make that bad joke every time.

She stripped off her jacket and went across to her bed in order to slip off her sandals and ease the shortie jumpsuit from her shoulders, letting it puddle at her feet.  
It was warm in her flat, so she simply threw a vest over her bra and pants before padding across to her small kitchenette in order to gather a bowl, fork and glass.  
She sat cross legged on her small sofa, listening to a generic play list on her phone, eating sweet and sour vegetables and noodles and realised that her phone didn’t appear to be charging up properly.   
She’d hoovered the cable up a few days ago and although it had got untangled the end looked a bit peculiar.

As she chewed she considered whether she had a spare and decided the most likely location would be shoved into one of the pockets in her case because she was certain she had one with her in Masham.

Having dumped her empty bowl and cutlery into the sink she padded over to the wardrobe and was able to poke the small case off the top using a tall can of hairspray. The irony of the fact that if Cormoran had been there he could have reached it without stretching was not lost on her!

There was nothing in the case itself, so she worked her way around to try to 2 zipped compartments.   
The first was empty, but the second definitely seemed to contain something….it was a slender shape….possibly a thin paperback she’d left in there, but she couldn’t recall one.   
She unzipped and dug her hand inside, pulling out both a small, white wired adaptor and a badly wrapped, slender package with an envelope attached to it.

The wrapping paper showed a festive pattern of jewel coloured baubles and gold stars and the scrawled writing of her name on the envelope was familiar.  
So he had got her a Christmas present afterall!

She pulled the wrapping free and smiled as she saw the DVD of The Princess Bride, which Robin had been slightly shocked to discover was one of Strike’s favourites when he’d flicked it on part way through after they’d had lunch in his flat whilst playing hooky in early December, (it was pissing down outside and neither could be arsed to go out and tail clients!)

Robin had enjoyed watching the film, but she’d enjoyed more the fact that Strike seemed to know most of the lines and could deliver them fractionally before the actors; even adopting appropriate accents – his slightly clipped, posh Wesley was rather glorious!   
She’d mentioned that she’d never seen it all the way through….so the DVD was a perfect gift.

She reached over and slotted the disc into her laptop, wanting to be able to curl up in bed with the film and her chocolate, but her fingers also found the envelope which had been attached to the package with a piece of tape.  
It didn't feel stiff enough to be a card....and he didn't do cards!

Tearing it open she took out two sheets of rather beautiful cream coloured, thick weight writing paper, which were covered on both sides by Cormoran’s ‘best’ handwriting; the one he used in Jack’s Birthday cards!

She opened the pages out and began to read, quickly bringing her fingers up cover her mouth which had fallen open at the end of the initial sentence.  
The 3 and a half pages were beyond romantic.   
Robin hadn’t thought it possible for a grown man she knew so well to show such a different side to his personality….and so openly and unreservedly. 

He extoled her beauty that ‘radiated from her like the warmest rays of the evening sun’, he commented on her kindness; her enduring faith in humanity despite all they faced daily.   
His words moved her so much that she was sobbing freely, but grinning broadly by the end of the second side.  
Turning to the final page she gasped as she read the last section of the letter.   
She hadn’t rung, of course she hadn’t, nor had she texted…..oh shit….and of course he’d assumed that his feeling were not reciprocated and had met Tessa!

Oh fuck!

What a complete and unholy fuck up of the highest order!

She reread the letter, several paragraphs received third and fourth reads; and tried to control her thoughts.

If only she’d found this as intended; everything would be so different now….

….but Cormoran had clearly moved on….and he seemed happy.

She took her laptop and the precious letter with her to bed, and drifted off to sleep just as Wesley and Buttercup sealed their love with their kiss.

She woke the following day stiff due to falling asleep hunched over oddly in bed.  
She realised she was still clutching the letter from Cormoran – it was crumpled and tear stained already, but all the more beautiful for it.

Tailing Carter around on his Saturday routine, which would hopefully include a detour to his mistress’ flat would help to take her mind off it.

She couldn’t have him…..she had known that before she discovered the letter, and nothing had changed.

He was with Tessa…..he’d clearly conquered the feelings he had so eloquently expounded in the letter.

Work would have to occupy her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue Strike......he is about to get very, very drunk and call Robin a very nice person.......


	4. Miserable Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So.....I just love writing drunk people....and Tom B plays him so beautifully in The Cuckoo's Calling having his rambling, drunken evening of sadness.....he also kind of does the whole winking gone wrong blink thing when he tells the barman to 'put it on the Super tab'!  
> Cormoran has fucked things up royally with Tessa.......Robin initially thinks he is heartbroken....but alcohol loosens his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please get into character and adopt a Burke-esque drunken slurring as you read along.  
> In my imagination Strike puffs his cheeks out a lot as though he is stifling wind....but he isn't burping! Humour me on this one!

Maybe it had been the scent of her perfume on his jumper.

Maybe it had been the sight of her glorious amber-gold hair in the moonlit garden.

Maybe it had been that enigmatic, slightly pensive pout she’d had on her lips for most of the evening.

Who knows what it was, but it had screwed things up big style.

Hence why he was drowning his sorrows in the Tottenham on Sunday afternoon rather than enjoying the companionship of Tessa….his now very much EX girlfriend.

He’d walked out rather than try to explain his behaviour, or lie to Tessa when she’d openly asked him about it.  
The text he’d received from her an hour later had been eloquence itself, and having screwed it all up he was now on his eighth pint and fifth whisky.

Fuck!

He had been managing OK……his feelings for Robin had been squashed down by Tessa……and he’d managed to stick to his daily ritual of day dreaming about Robin for a maximum of 2 cigarettes a day.

That had all gone tits up though after the party.

He repeatedly puffed out his lips and cheeks, beginning to mumble his inner thoughts out loud since the last whisky had hit his system.  
A few regulars in the pub noted his appearance with alarm, and tables close to him had begun to empty as his odd outbursts became louder and more uncontrolled.  
Sammi behind the bar was observing him.   
She liked Strike; he was a source of a lot of profit for the pub; and she’d grown used to seeing him and Robin frequenting the booth he was occupying; although she had noticed it had been less frequent since January.

She’d welcomed him back like an old friend when he’d wandered in at around 11am.   
He’d seemed gloomy and immediately ordered a whisky and a pint, downing the former as the latter was poured and demanding a second to take across to his preferred, slightly secluded booth.

He hadn’t been there with Tessa….it was a place uniquely associated with Robin.

“Sammi….mate….c’n I ‘ave n’other one in there an’ jus’ one more li’l whisky,” he announced in his deep, rumbling baritone, at a volume loud enough to blow the head off a Guinness!

The young, heavily pierced barmaid regarded the large, slightly shambolic figure and grudgingly poured out the drinks he’d requested, mentally noting that she’d tell him it was his last unless he wanted a pint of water, or a mug of tea to sober him up a bit.  
She carried the 2 glasses across to him and arrived in time to find him hunched and shuffling, trying to kick his phone into a position where he could pick it up from where he’d knocked it onto the floor.

“Stupid fucker,” he was mumbling, his fingers stretching and managing to stroke the side of the device but not pick it up.

“Let me get that…..but, mate….you need to slow down on these…yeah?” and she bent to pick up the phone, placing it into his limp grasp.  
Cormoran made a weak attempt at a salute to show understanding of the warning.

“Last time I was in ‘ere gettin’ rat arsed Robin came an’ saved me….d’you r‘member?” he thought back to that pivotal moment in their working relationship….the first time he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of her…..the moment when he’d realised she would go to a lot of effort to make sure he was OK….the moment he realised that she knew him!

“Long time since you were this pissed, mate,” Sammi grinned, hovering at the table. “By the way….have you got one of your company cards? I got a friend who might need some help…..private life, you know?”

Strike nodded and winced as he realised that his eyes seemed to move far too rapidly compared to the rest of his head.  
He fumbled in his jacket pocket and handed over a couple of business cards, stabbing his index finger onto them on the table, “You tell your friend to say your name….’an I’ll give ‘em mate’s rates!”

Sammi giggled slightly as Strike attempted to wink, but couldn’t seem to co-ordinate his eyes to close independent from one another, so simply affected an odd blink at her.  
Moving back to the bar Sammi glanced at the business card and dialled one of the mobile numbers printed there.

“Hi, it’s Sammi, the barmaid at the Tottenham…..any chance you could pop down….it’s your business partner….he’s getting himself into a bit of a state….yeah, pissed……great, that’s great….I’ll try and slow him down a bit ’til you get here….cheers Robin, see you soon.”

Half an hour later Strike had finished his drinks and was wondering where the replacement he’d asked for had got to. He’d toyed with the idea of going for another cigarette, but had decided that he was not that desperate….and his prosthetic leg seemed to be acting oddly because it wouldn’t seem to let him stand up properly, and so as Robin entered the bar she was met with the sight and sound of the man she knew had been ‘hopelessly in love with the wonderful, intelligent and truly beautiful woman who had appeared in and transformed his life,’ berating an empty bar stool from his position in 'their' booth.

Robin rolled her eyes at Sammi who shrugged and shook her head before she walked directly into his line of sight.

“Robin!?” he remarked, almost disbelieving his own blurred vision. “What’re you doin’ ‘ere?”

She chuckled slightly, thinking back to the first time she’d rescued him from a drunken bender…he’d welcomed her in exactly the same manner….if he started calling her a nice person she thought she might start laughing outloud!

“I came to find you…..come on….time to go Cormoran,” and she scooped up his phone, cigarettes and lighter, waggling them slightly out of his reach so that he’d be forced to move rather than remain fixed in his seat.

“I really, really like the way you say Corrrm’ron……nob’dy says my name like you do Robin,” he announced, pushing himself up using more of his upper body strength than was usually necessary.   
He got himself to his feet and shuffled, swaying slightly as he manoeuvred himself from behind the table.

“How come you’re drunk?”

“B’cos I have been drinking a lot of beers and whiskies, Rob’n,” and he hiccoughed loudly.

Robin couldn’t stifle her laughter as Strike held out his hand, like a small boy waiting for his mum, “Will you help me Rob’n….’cos you’re a very, very nice pers’n….an’ I like you….but y’know that!” and he made a half shrug with his free hand, Robin having securely fixed her hand into his outstretched one.

“Come on…..you need tea, and maybe a Twix, and your bed,” she tried not to think about what he might tell her….she assumed he’d had a row with Tessa, and assumed his drunken state was down to him feeling ‘a bit sad’ about it all.

Thankfully, once standing Strike was slightly ‘galleon-like’, in that he only required a small nudge to get him moving in the right direction, and as long as she was prepared to move at a sedate pace alongside him she was able to steer him along the pavement and the short distance to Denmark Street.

They moved in silence, only broken periodically by Strike reiterating that Robin was ‘really a very, very nice person….who I like’ and apologising to the odd piece of pavement furniture as he stumbled into it.

Reaching Denmark Street posed a new challenge, of getting him up the 3 flights of stairs to his small flat, but thankfully once inside the familiar, slightly musty smelling hallway, he proceeded to hoist himself steadily up the stairs.  
He announced loudly as they passed the locked office door that, “I am not in any fit state to work, so take the day off Rob’n,” receiving an amused reminder from her that it was infact Sunday, so she technically WAS having a day off!

She took the keys from him when they reached his small landing, he flicked his fingertips across her hand and gave a slight hum in his chest as she slotted the key into the lock and let them both inside.  
Robin’s thoughts naturally turned towards what had resulted in Strike’s drunken bender.   
Much as she didn’t want to discuss his personal life with him – Jesus, it had been bad enough when she was only aware of her own feelings……now that she knew he’d been secretly besotted with her in the past it was almost unbearable to consider him telling her how he’d messed up, and wanted Tessa back – but she knew that as a friend, he needed her.

“So come on then…..what’s up with you? Why have you drunk your own body weight in alcohol?”

“I fucked up Robin…..Fucked it all up!” he flopped down onto the side of his bed, Robin following into the room after him carrying paracetamol and a large glass of water from the tap.  
Robin took a steadying breath, he looked really sad….really devastated, and despite her own feelings it wasn’t in her nature to take satisfaction in the misery of others.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way of getting her to forgive you…..you’re quite charming when you put your mind to it!” 

Robin became aware that Strike’s eyes were fuzzily focussed on her as she moved to place the glass and tablets on the bedside table.  
She heard him let out a throaty groan and heard the thud as he fell back against his bed cover.

“Nah….too fucked up for that,” he huffed, pouting out his lower lip.

Robin glanced over at him; his eyes were rested closed and his face looked pained.  
Oh God……she wanted to hug and caress his face and tell him he was gorgeous and perfect and that Tessa would forgive him for whatever he’d done…..but she also didn’t quite trust herself not to drag his crumpled lips towards her own and take advantage of his drunken and misery fuelled vulnerability.

“I want to tell you ‘bout it….but……it’s not my finest hour….and it’s your fault…but I don’t want you to feel bad, ‘cos it isn’t your fault,” he stated, opening one lid and gazing at her through narrowed and definitely alcohol addled green eyes.

Robin gave a small snort of laughter, “Either this is my fault, or it isn’t….and given that you’ve clearly botched up your love life I fail to see how I’m responsible!” she giggled and poked her finger into his knee, enjoying and noting for future reference (?!?) that the spot she’d touched made him squirm and giggle.

“Tha’ tickles,” he giggled, wriggling and turning onto his side, facing Robin. “S’not really your fault…..you can’t help it.”

“What? Can’t help what? And here, take these,” she held out the tablets and Cormoran propped himself up on his elbow in order to obediently swallow the 2 tablets with a glug of water, half emptying the glass and giving a resounding smack of his lips as he reached it out to replace on the cabinet.  
Robin rescued it before he released it, her fingertips firmly and as purposefully as he could manage, caressed by his slightly gnarled digits.

“Look, Cormoran, whatever you’ve done I’m sure Tessa will forgive you….she seems like a very nice person.”

Cormoran guffawed loudly, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled before he contorted his face into a picture of abject misery and twisted half onto his front, attempting to wrestle himself out of his jacket and getting his hand stuck in the cuff.  
Robin reached over him and tugged his wrist free, pulling his jacket from him and placing it over the end of the bed as he made further groaning noises.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, peering up at her, “But you didn’t call me…” his voice faltered and his murmured ramblings ceased, although the stroking of his fingertip against her knee continued…and he was dimly aware that she wasn’t stopping him.

Robin looked down into his soft, incredibly boyish and frankly gorgeous face and felt her knees buckle slightly and she sat on the edge of his bed.  
They remained silent for several long, tortuous moments…..moments where a multitude of possibilities remained between them.

Finally Strike took a deep breath and exhaled as he spoke huskily, “I called out your name…..when we were having sex….me and Tessa.”

Robin’s eyebrows arched up into her hairline and she pouted out her surprise before composing her voice and replying, “I’m sure it’ll be fine if you just explain……we spend a lot of time around each other……”

“It’s not the first time,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “And the last time I did it she told me it had to be the last time…..so this time….this time was definitely the last time!” he swallowed and she saw a slight shimmer behind his eyes.

He looked completely distraught….and it killed her.  
Shit….he’d really liked Tessa hadn’t he?

“There’ll be someone else,” Robin stated softly, stroking her palm across the broadness of his shoulder as she focussed on the creased fabric of her trousers.  
She felt him sigh, his breath warm against her hip, “Yeah, but unless they’re called Robin I’m screwed!” he said sadly before huffing and continuing, the alcohol in his system definitely acting to loosen his tongue, “I can’t make you feel the same way about me as I do about you…..it would just be so much easier if you did though,” and he pouted his lips, picking at the poppers on his duvet cover.

Robin smiled softly and took a steadying breath.   
He was of course completely unaware that she had only just seen and read his heartfelt letter.   
She twisted and glanced down at him, covering his fidgeting hand with her own.

“Looks like what you really need is a girlfriend with the same name as mine…..that’ll stop you getting into so much trouble!”

He snorted a chuckle, “Yup! S’what I want,” he sighed, adding in a murmur, “More than anythin’.”

“Alright then,” Robin whispered, stroking his knuckles and the unruly curls from his slightly damp forehead, “I think I know someone who can fill that role.”

Strike hummed somewhere in his chest as her hand soothed his forehead and scalp, “Can you give her my number….and tell her I’m not a complete disaster……only a bit of a disaster!”

She sighed and shook her head, enjoying how his eyes had drifted closed allowing her the indulgence of inspecting the spattering of freckles which covered his nose and cheeks, “I’ll do better than that, I’ll get her to pop round,” and she sniggered as his somewhat unfocussed eyes tried to meet hers.

“Don’t tell her to come early though……I’m a bit drunk, Rob’n….might have a bit of a sore ‘ead tomorrow,” and he again tried to wink, but failed and gave another of his slightly endearing, uncoordinated blinks.

“You once told me you don’t get hangovers!” she grinned, enjoying the wrinkle nosed expression that momentarily lit up his face.

“I ‘member that….but I lied Rob’n.”

She smiled down at him, “Did you lie in your letter to me?” she asked.

He shook his head fractionally, “No!....no lies……just what I felt….feel.... in here,” and he stabbed at his sternum and glanced up at her through hooded, swirling green pools of warmth, and adoration.

“Alright then….you should go to sleep Cormoran. Come on, let’s get you comfy.”

Strike allowed her to manoeuvre him around so that she could remove his left boot and swing his other boot up onto the mattress fully – she wouldn’t be able to remove his leg without removing his trousers, but at least she could make sure it was raised and supported.

“You’re a very nice pers’n Rob’n.”

“I know,” she giggled as he snuggled himself under the duvet which she had wrestled carefully from under him.  
She waited a few minutes until he was snoring gently before moving to use the loo.

As she washed her hands she looked at herself in the small mirror and considered everything she and Cormoran were to each other.  
They were brilliant work colleagues, they made each other laugh like idiots, they knew when the other one needed painkillers, or chocolate, or both!   
They had become highly attuned to each other over the time they had known each other, and despite the fact that she knew; because he’d said so in his letter; that he’d created strict barriers to prevent this thing he felt for her coming between them and the possible catastrophe of it ruining what they had, she now considered that the only thing standing in their way was that he was too pissed to be able to believe it if she told him she loved him!

Taking a slow, deep breath she nodded back at the confident, shining eyed face staring back at her. 

Having collected her coat and scarf she slipped out of Strike’s flat and made her way back home, hugging herself and considering how in just a few hours things between her and her best friend would change forever.   
It was a feeling like swallowing bubbling honeycomb, and she knew that the usually staid London passers by would be staring at her for grinning so wildly…..but she didn’t care.  
Cormoran loved her……..and she completely loved him…..and as long as he wasn’t throwing his guts up she’d tell him that in the morning!


	5. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right......did I mention that I LOVE The Princess Bride? 'Cos I do....shamelessly.....and I reckon Strike would enjoy it's romance and poignancy.....and daftness.  
> So......sappy fluffy, slightly vomit inducing ending....and not due to hangover!  
> However, there is a bit of Strike canon type language!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is Rita Ora - Let me Love You

Strike woke feeling like he’d : swallowed cotton wool; banged his head repeatedly against a wall; and consumed the contents of a cat litter tray.  
With a low groan he rolled over and realised his leg was still attached, but his other foot was just covered in a sock…..and he dimly recalled Robin helping him home.

“Oh God….you fucking…..fucking useless twat!” he growled as he rubbed his palm across his mussed up bed hair and remembered the events leading to his alcohol fuelled bender.

He'd walked out on Tessa rather than argue, and she'd told him to get his stuff and fuck off....by text!

He couldn’t blame her…..it was the fourth time he’d said Robin’s name in a highly inappropriate context…..and frankly he’d have thought less of Tessa if she’d let him get away with it again!

He dimly recalled talking to Robin in the pub, and the flat.   
He remembered her asking about the letter, and he thought it weird that this was the first time she’d mentioned it to him, but mainly he just wanted the floor to open up and let him be dragged down to the pit of hell where, based on his current head and the pain in his knee from sleeping in his prosthesis, he’d be more comfortable!

After hauling himself up he made his way to the shower, managed to undress and wrestle off his leg so that he could shower and clean his teeth.

After a couple of cigarettes, several glasses of water, mugs of tea and half a packet of chocolate digestives he felt slightly more human and started to piece together more of the events of the evening, shaking his head at the recollection that he’d told her that what he wanted was for her to feel the same way about him as he did about her….which was clearly not the case.

At around about lunchtime he considered venturing out for something hot to eat – his stomach craved carbs and his headache had lifted with the help of a couple of painkillers and more tea.  
Having dressed in jeans and a t shirt he pulled a shirt over the top which he left unbuttoned with the cuffs rolled back, and was about to get his shit together when he heard a light set of footsteps on the stairs.  
He recognised them as Robin’s and assumed he’d shortly hear the door to the office below him open….and maybe she’d hum her current earworm song….he had no idea what the actual song was, but she seemed to repeat the words ‘I wish that I could let you’ and ‘what’s the matter with me’ …..he’d heard her singing it several times over the past few weeks when she’d got into the office before him.

The footsteps however were now louder and with a startled jump he realised she was knocking on his door.  
Opening it he couldn’t help but catch his breath slightly.  
The sparkle that had been missing from behind her eyes was back, and she was flashing the full force of her glorious smile directly at him.

“How’s the hangover?”

“Fading…..thankfully...…I….er…….yesterday…..”   
Robin was shaking her head at him and almost pushing him back as she entered his flat and closed the door behind her.

“Yesterday we decided that you need a girlfriend who’s called Robin….otherwise….well……the next time you might end up getting punched rather than just told to bugger off!”

Strike was looking a little sheepish, but his eyes narrowed as he considered how buoyant and fractionally jittery Robin appeared.  
She looked beautiful too…..I mean, she always did in his eyes, but she really, really did.   
She was wearing a long flowing skirt covered in a swirling black paisley design, a plain vest top and a necklace made of coral coloured beads which he’d given her as a birthday gift.  
Her skin was clear and relatively free of make up, allowing her natural, slightly sunkissed skin to show, and her eyes…..Jesus he could happily drown in them.

In a moment of clarity his brain pieced together some of their conversation, “Didn’t you say you knew someone?” and he gave a slight hitch; realisation hitting him as she smiled directly into his eyes and moved towards him, reaching out to stroke her fingertips up his forearms.  
Each touch felt like a heated poker, singeing into his very soul, but he found himself rooted to the spot and gently toying his fingers under her elbows and she came to rest very close to him.

“If you’re gonna slip presents into my suitcase you should know I never use the side pockets……and if I’d got that letter at Christmas time I’d definitely have called you.”

Feeling bolder, and starting to put together the missing pieces of the jigsaw, he gently caressed his fingers across her cheek, tucking one of the tendrils of her glorious hair behind her ear.

“But you’ve read it now? And…….is it…….is it OK?”

Robin peered up at him and raised up onto her toes, nudging her nose against his stubbled chin, “It’s perfect…..kiss me.”

“As you wish,” Cormoran smiled, dipping his face to capture her lips with his own.

Since the invention of the kiss there have been six kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.  
....and it was only the first of many, many more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....yeah, in the film/book it is 5 kisses.....but then Wesley and Buttercup do theirs.....so I reckon that makes it six!
> 
> And in my imagination the only thing he goes to pick up from Tessa's flat is that grey sweater!


End file.
